


i know who i want (to take me home)

by thinksideways



Category: Drunk History, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst and Porn, Drunk Sex, F/F, Gender or Sex Swap, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 13:19:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9609185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinksideways/pseuds/thinksideways
Summary: “A couple of days before the final duel, Hamilton and Burr were at the same party. And by all accounts, Burr was sulking in the corner, and Hamilton was standing on the bar, leading his friends in a song…And this is the last night, guys. The last night.”(and this is what happened, after)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this](http://trashybooksforladies.tumblr.com/post/155636332628/drunk-history-410-hamilton-with-alia-shawkat) scene from the Hamilton Drunk History episode, which I think about every damn day of my life.
> 
> Slight warning for drunk sex/dubious consent.

The thing about Alex is, you could love her one day and want to kill her the next.

 

***

 

The party is riotous, and Burr wonders why she even came at all. The beer tastes bitter on her tongue, so she switches to whiskey, which was perhaps a mistake. The room spins, slowly, and Burr makes her way to the corner of the room, finds a chair. The fact things are spinning doesn’t keep her from drinking.

She’s been drinking a lot, lately, as the day creeps closer, the day she is to meet Alex on the dueling grounds. Thinking of it makes her nervous, makes her write letters her pride will not allow her to send (she burns them, those letters; she leaves none of her misgivings to the merciless hands of history).

She watches the forms - they’d been people, when she’d arrived, but with enough alcohol they are reduced to blurs of brown and black and tan, a cacophony of voices, with one rising above the rest.

It’s not even that she dislikes Alex - she’d hadn’t been the one to burn their friendship to the ground and spit on the ashes, she’d considered Alex a friend until Alex spoke otherwise - but she couldn’t stand for that disrespect, for the articles.

(One in particular springs to mind - _Burr is a dangerous woman, and one who ought not to be trusted with the reins of government_.)

The group breaks into song, Alex’s voice rising above all the rest - Alex is on top of the bar now ( _finally the tallest in the room_ , Burr notes, wry), waving her hands and her tankard like she’s conducting a symphony rather than a group of sycophants. Their raucous, off-key chorus fills the room, and even as Burr’s vision steadies Alex hops off the bar with a surprising grace, considering how much she’s had to drink, and sways her way over to Burr. Alex smiles in a devastating sort of way, reaches out to grab Burr’s arm.

“You’re not singing,” she says. Burr can feel the pressure of her fingers even through the thick fabric of her jacket.

“I don’t particularly care for this song,” Burr replies, snatching her arm back.

“We should dance,” Alex says.

“You should apologize.”

Alex laughs, as if this is a joke. She shakes her head and moves off, as if Burr is forgotten. And maybe Burr wants to be forgotten, because she slips out the backdoor into the alleyway. The room had been too hot, crammed with the other partygoers. She presses her back to the wall, tilts her chin up slightly to catch any hint of the summer breeze. It’s cooled off some, but July nights have an awful weight to them, a humidity that never quite disperses. Still, it’s infinitely better than the party, which stunk of alcohol-infused sweat. It’s almost quiet, out here, the voices inside muffled to obscurity. Burr closes her eyes. She’s better in this, in the near-quiet, in the near-dark of the alley.

“Pardon me,” says a voice, but it’s not a voice, it’s _her_ voice. Burr doesn't have to open her eyes to know that. _Alex_.

“What do you want?” she doesn't snap, but it’s close to it, the words have an edge to them, a bite.

“I saw you leaving the party prematurely. Quite rude.”

“Some might say standing on the host’s bar with dirty boots could also be considered rude.”

“Why, Burr! You know my boots aren’t _dirty_.”

Alex laughs at her own response, a move she’s practiced, Burr is sure.

Alex comes closer. She’s indistinct, in the moonlight, backlit in a brilliant sort of way. Her hair is coming undone from its ponytail, and her cravat is crooked, a sure sign she’s drunk, for Burr knows Alex to be an epitome of fashion. She fights the urge to straighten it.

“Does it offend you, being in the same room as me?” Alex asks, her head cocking.

“It’s not my first choice,” replies Burr.

“We’re gentlewomen, surely. No need for rudeness.”

“I found some things you wrote about me rather rude.”

“I found them rather honest, myself.”

Burr rolls her eyes. It’s no better than the letters, when she argues with Alex it always feels like this - like she is the immovable object; and Alex, the unstoppable force, and what happens when they meet?

 “I may have said you’re a dangerous woman, Burr,” Alex says, “but you know I’ve never shied from danger.”

And then there’s a hand on her hip, and one in her hair, and she feels the pressure of Alex’s body near hers, and yes, she should shove her away, she _should_ \-- but Alex’s teeth are on her neck, on her jaw, Burr’s body caged in the alleyway by Alex’s limbs. Burr’s body - a traitor, a traitor - responds to the touch, her head lolls to the side to give Alex further access to her neck, and her hands have found their way around Alex’s waist, seemingly of their own accord.

And then they are kissing, and they both taste of alcohol - Burr, whiskey; Alex, beer - and the kiss burns in the sort of way it shouldn’t, it feels like fire and even engulfed in flames Burr doesn’t call for water.

Alex’s hand moves from Burr’s hair to cup her breast through her shirt, her grip tight - it would have been uncomfortable, were it not for the layers of clothing between them - and Burr moans a little. Encouraged, Alex slips a thigh between Burr’s legs and Burr’s hips cant forward, grinding through her breeches. Burr feels disembodied, like she is watching herself walk this path, watching her hands move to grip Alex’s ass, pull her closer.

“Take me home,” Alex whispers, and Burr obliges.

 

***

 

They leave the party without anyone noticing. Burr lives only a short distance away, a sparse and small house. Burr tries to walk with some semblance of grace even if the world seems to have a nasty habit of spinning, but Alex’s hands are hungry, and Burr settles for holding one of them so it will stay off her ass, at least for the time being.

They make it to Burr’s house - barely - and Burr hardly has time to shut the door before Alex is upon her, hands unbuttoning Burr’s dark scarlet vest with a surprising deftness (considering Alex could barely walk a straight line on the way home), and rucking up her shirt. Alex’s hand cups her breast against, this time skin-to-skin, and gentler, thumb brushing over Burr’s nipple. It’s a delicate, simple touch that still makes Burr moan, sets her to undoing Alex’s jacket and cravat until she has Alex topless before her. She runs her hands up her sides, traces a circle around Alex’s breasts, runs her fingers down her arms. The skin is soft, decorated in freckles, too many for Burr to ever count, so she doesn’t try, instead she dips her head and takes one of Alex’s dark brown nipples into her mouth, flicks her tongue over it. She feels Alex’s hands scrabbling over her back, pulling her back up, faces close. They’re still in the hallway, drunk and desperate, like teenagers.

“We shouldn’t --” she begins, but then Alex’s mouth is back on her, and it’s a sentence Burr never gets to finish.

Alex’s hands trail downward, fingertips dragging on Burr’s skin, unfastening her breeches. Burr steps out of them, almost loses her balance, has to place a hand on Alex’s shoulder to steady herself. Alex looks up at her, having gone to her knees to finish removing Burr’s breeches. She doesn’t stand, instead trails her fingers up the soft down of Burr’s calf, then up her thigh, the touch almost too light, almost unbearable. Burr is already so wet she’s surprised she’s not dripping, and Alex’s finger finds little resistance as it traces over her, then slips in.

Burr moans at the sight of Alex on her knees, the slow stroke of her finger (no, finger _s_ \-- Alex adds a second one as Burr watches her). With her free hand, Alex parts the lips of Burr’s sex, places her mouth upon her. The wet heat of her mouth is exquisite, tongue writing paragraphs across her clit, fingers rocking in a rhythm that’s just too slow, a move Burr thinks is purposeful.

Rather than intensify, the movement of Alex’s tongue across Burr’s clit grows slower until she pulls her mouth off altogether, looks up at Burr, hands now hooked around Burr’s thighs.

“Bedroom?” she asks sweetly, and Burr takes her hand, pulls her up, and takes her there.

 

***

 

The bed is unmade, and Burr first pushes the covers onto the floor and then Alex onto the bed, removes her breeches, and finally straddles her, pins one wrist overheard. Alex squirms beneath her, desperately seeking some sort of friction, which Burr denies her. She dips her head back to Alex’s breasts, hand releasing her wrist so she can take Alex’s nipple between thumb and forefinger, rolling just slightly, almost pinching. She watches Alex -- her eyes have fluttered closed and her lips are partially open, breath coming fast. Burr is kind to her, now, shifts so one thigh is between Alex’s legs, so she might grind against it. Alex obliges as soon as Burr presses against her, grinding her hips into the pressure offered. Burr can feel her own thigh grow slick from Alex’s excitement, and the exuberance of it excites her in turn, enough that she takes her leg away - and here, Alex moans softly in protest - and moves down, settles on to her stomach in front of Alex’s sex. She grabs her thighs, the grip tight, spreads them further, laying Alex bare and open before her. Burr takes in the sight, for just a moment, the red-brown thatch of pubic hair, the spread and slick thighs, and _ah_ , the soft pink folds of her, wet and wanting.

Burr parts these folds with thumb and forefinger, exposes Alex’s clit. She drags her thumb across it, too hard - Alex squirms at the pressure - before moving in so it’s her tongue instead, lapping in sure strokes. Burr has none of Alex’s teasing nature in the hallway, her tongue moves with purpose against Alex and Alex responds as Burr had wanted, with twisting hips and gripping hands and strings of curses tearing from her lips.

She comes quick enough, hips grinding up into Burr and while Alex is still in her throes Burr slips two fingers into her, fucks her mercilessly while keeping rhythm with her tongue, the other hand going to her hip to keep her from squirming away.                     

Alex may have begun to protest, too sensitive - _don’t_ \- but before Burr can adhere to any protests Alex clenches around her fingers, moving in unmistakable contractions, and she’s coming again, coming and crying Burr’s name.

 

***

 

Alex is quick to reciprocate, when Burr slips her fingers out and moves her mouth away Alex is moving already, pushing at Burr’s shoulders to make her desire known. Burr obliges, rolls so she is supine on the bed, and Alex is between her legs already, hungry, hands gripping Burr’s thighs. Alex doesn’t use her fingers this time, she’s all _mouth_ , finally putting it to good use, pressed against Burr so fully that Burr wonders for a moment how she’s breathing at all, but soon enough the relentless nature of Alex’s tongue has Burr focusing on other things, instead.

For all her lamenting about Alex’s _big mouth_ Burr has no such laments now, only praise, curses flung out of her as Alex works, incessant, and soon Burr is crying out, fingers gripping shoulders, and Alex doesn’t stop, either, and before Burr’s legs can stop shaking she’s coming again, thighs clutching at Alex’s head like a vise, but Alex doesn’t complain, doesn’t seem to notice at all. An unstoppable force.

 

***

 

After -- they kiss, sticky, still drunk. Alex says something under her breath, laughs.

“What is it?” Burr asks.

“It’s nothing,” Alex replies, and those will be some of the last words exchanged between them: _it’s nothing_.

Burr can barely keep her eyes open, and she supposes it’s for the best, the gravity of her mistake is beginning to awaken within her, a low sense of dread and _what-have-I-done_ and sleep will quiet it, if only for a few hours. She can feel the beginnings of a headache forming in the back of her skull. She closes her eyes, and falls asleep.

She wakes sometime in the predawn, to a _thump_ and muffled curse. The sound of a door slamming shut. Burr rolls over, and goes back to sleep. It’s nothing.

 

***

 

They say that question - _what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?_ \- is a false question, because one cannot exist if the other does. That the existence of one negates the existence of the other.

Negation can happen in a lot of ways. For instance, a gunshot. A bullet.

 

***

 

The thing about Alex was, you could love her one day and kill her the next.

 

**Author's Note:**

> have I mentioned yet I have trouble writing anything that's not angst, because I do.
> 
> also prayers that finishing and posting this will finally make drunk Lin stop scream-singing 'Closing Time' in my brain. let me rest. 
> 
> feel free to shout at me on tumblr @[thinksideways](http://thinksideways.tumblr.com/)


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